


Milk and Cookies

by applecore



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Calgary Flames, Inflation, Kink Exploration, M/M, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecore/pseuds/applecore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You wanna see? Come over to my place and I’ll show you.”</p><p>Dougie blinked at him, and then he shrugged. “Sure, I guess,” like him coming over to Johnny’s was no big thing. Also, like he wanted to watch Johnny guzzle an inhuman volume of milk and not be sick afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk and Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to finish this in time for kinkfest, and I didn't, oh well. I did a truly ridiculous amount of research on milk packaging and storage in Canada.

“You can _not_ ,” Josh said. 

“You doubt me?” Johnny said, hand to his heart. “That hurts, man.”

“You can’t chug a four liter of milk,” Josh said. “Nobody can do that. They’d explode.”

“ _They_ might explode. But I wouldn’t. Get me some, and I’ll show you.”

Josh shook his head. “I don’t want to watch you puke. And I definitely don’t want you on IR. Pass.” He wandered out of the locker room, still shaking his head.

“I’m pretty sure you’d explode,” Dougie said from two stalls down. He said it quietly. Doug was a quiet guy, as near as anyone could figure. Maybe that was the Boston effect, Johnny thought. Or the trade effect.

And here Dougie was, finally speaking up just to be wrong. “I would not fucking explode,” Johnny told him. “I used to do it in high school all the time.” 

Dougie gave him the skeptical eyeball, and maybe that was a little bit fair. Back in high school, Johnny never went much past half a gallon, in little quart cartons donated to the cause. The principle was the same, though. “You wanna see? Come over to my place and I’ll show you.”

Dougie blinked at him, and then he shrugged. “Sure, I guess,” like him coming over to Johnny’s was no big thing. Also, like he wanted to watch Johnny guzzle an inhuman volume of milk and not be sick afterwards. 

Leave it to Dougie to call his bluff. It was always the quiet ones. “Okay, but we have to go by the store first,” Johnny said. “I don’t have any milk.”

*

A four-liter was about the size of a gallon, and it _was_ a lot of milk. Johnny stood in front of the dairy section for a moment, sizing up the plastic jug, before he picked it up and took it the register. 

Dougie met him in the car with a sack. “Razors,” he told Johnny. “I was running out.”

Johnny did not point out that Dougie had a thirty-five million dollar contract and could afford a fucking electric razor. 

*

“So how do you do this?” Dougie asked.

Johnny honestly wasn’t quite sure. In high school, he usually had a bunch of spectators egging him on. There was ceremony that went with this, damn it. Now he had just Dougie, who was waiting with interest for Johnny to do something - to perform the trick, which was not quite how Johnny had ever thought of it before. 

But there was no point in feeling awkward now. “Just go for it, I guess.” Johnny unscrewed the cap, held the rim to his lips, and took a swallow.

It was cold. Of course it was – ten minutes ago it’d been refrigerated. But somehow he wasn’t expecting it, and he felt it all the way down: cold rivulets trailing down his insides, splashing at the bottom. 

“Okay?” Dougie asked. He didn’t really look concerned. More just…interested. Wasn’t Dougie supposed to be the quiet sweetheart guy? Johnny was beginning to have his doubts about the sweetheart part.

“Fine,” Johnny said, and he was. One swallow was nothing. He took another, and another, gulping it down without pausing for breath. By the third swallow he was numb to the cold, but he could feel it beginning to collect in the bottom of his stomach. He pulled off to catch his breath, and he checked the milk level in the jug. He had a long, long way to go. He swallowed some saliva and the beginning of a doubt – he’d never had time to have doubts in the cafeteria – and he picked up the jug again.

Around a liter in, Johnny had to take a longer pause. “Let’s take this to the table, man,” he said. He sat down carefully. 

“You gonna puke?” Dougie asked.

“Nah, man. I told you, I’m a pro.” Johnny felt full, and there was a tightness in his gut that precluded a cramp. But that was normal, and he knew how this went. “It’s all in your head, you know? Just gotta relax.” Dougie snorted, but Johnny ignored him. He took a slow breath in, and as he let it slowly out again, he focused on loosening up, letting go. After a minute or so of that, he opened his eyes, flashed Dougie a grin, and picked up the jug again.

A little over half the jug was gone when the cramp hit, sudden and vicious. “Fuck,” Johnny said, pressing his hand to the side of his stomach.

“You okay?”

“Just keep swimming,” Johnny said through gritted teeth. After a moment, it passed, and Johnny relaxed back against the chair with a groan. He passed a hand over his t-shirt, and yep, he could start to feel it. He rubbed a little, not that it ever did any good.

As he reached for the jug again, he caught Dougie staring at the place Johnny’s hand had been. There was a flush high on his cheeks, and when he saw Johnny looking, the flush deepened.

 _Huh_. Johnny arched his back a little, just enough that his stomach brushed against his t-shirt. Dougie inhaled sharply, and Johnny hid his grin behind the milk jug. 

The next swallow was _good_. It tasted good in his mouth, and it felt better going down. Johnny hummed his satisfaction against the rim of the jug, and he thought he heard Dougie choke a little. Or Johnny imagined it, same diff. 

He got lost in it for a little while, the cold in his throat and down into his stomach, where it settled in like an ache. The ache deepened the longer he went, and pressure built high in his stomach, just below his ribs. It was – it was almost a _good_ pressure, which he’d definitely never told anyone in high school.

He snuck a glance over the top of the jug. Dougie’s eyes were huge and fixed on Johnny’s stomach. Dougie lifted his gaze to meet Johnny’s, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

“You like?” Johnny asked. He arched his back again. Loose as his t-shirt was, it still took less arch this time to feel the cotton knit against his skin. Heat began to pool in his groin, a weird, uncertain contrast with the cold ache in his belly.

Dougie shifted his shoulders, like he’d have shrugged if he could muster up that much coordination. “You should take your shirt off.”

Suddenly there wasn’t quite enough blood to Johnny’s brain. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, okay.” Johnny set the jug on the table with shaking hands, and he tugged his t-shirt off – slowly, because he wasn’t planning to puke, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. Then he realized he didn’t know what to do with it, and he finally dropped it on the kitchen’s tile floor.

When he glanced up again, Dougie’s mouth was hanging open, and he was staring. Johnny looked down. Oh, yeah. Definitely visible. He squirmed back in the chair and laid a cautious hand on his stomach.

“Fuck,” Dougie said.

Johnny didn’t need to arch his back anymore. It was all right there: three liters of milk, swelling his stomach out round and full and taut. 

Dougie looked stunned, like he’d taken a shot to the visor. Johnny started to flush. He’d never taken his shirt off for this in high school. He curved his hand to frame the swell a little more clearly.

Dougie took an aborted step forward. He grimaced.

“You wanna touch?” Johnny said, because apparently they were doing this. 

Dougie scrambled over and crouched at Johnny’s feet. Fuck yeah, they were doing this. Dougie laid one warm hand on Johnny’s stomach. 

Johnny shivered. He was starting to chub in his sweatpants. “Never had anyone look at me before, when I did this.” 

Dougie met his eyes. “No?”

“No.”

“Cool,” Dougie said, a grin teasing at his lips. He turned back to Johnny’s swollen belly, the real object of interest. “Are you gonna – you’re gonna finish, right?”

“Like, now? Like this?”

“Yeah,” Dougie said. “Just like this.”

Johnny swallowed – just saliva and self-consciousness, this time. He lifted the milk jug to his lips again. There wasn’t much left. Half a liter, maybe. He had room for that. He forced himself to relax a little more against Dougie’s palm. Persuade your stomach, that’s what you had to do. Be the milk. 

He meant to chug the rest, but when he took that first swallow and his stomach swelled that little bit more, it swelled against the weight of Dougie’s hand. Johnny had to pause at how that felt, how it made him flush even deeper. 

“Fuck,” Dougie breathed. He looked up, wide-eyed, searching Johnny’s face but already pulling his hand back.

“No,” Johnny said. “Leave it there.”

Johnny took another swallow. It was almost too much, the heat of Dougie’s palm outside and the cold milk trickling down inside, the internal stretch and the external press against Johnny’s belly, like Dougie was holding him in. On every inhale, the curve of him pressed back against Dougie’s hand. 

But Johnny had to focus. He had to finish this thing. 

He lifted the jug high and he drained it, one gulp after another, quick enough he could swear he felt his belly expand. He dropped the empty jug, gasping, laid his head against the back of the chair, and closed his eyes.

“Okay?” Dougie asked.

“Yeah,” Johnny rasped. Fuck, he was – he was so full. He dropped his hands to the sides of his stomach, one getting caught up with Dougie’s on the way. Tentatively he explored the shape he was now. He was… round. Almost firm. He opened his eyes and looked down. “Wow.” He bowed out like a melon.

Dougie looked up with eyes filled with wonder. “You fucking did it.”

“Told you,” Johnny said, too full to have much room left for smugness. It felt as though every breath was a conscious effort to hold himself together – to keep from exploding, no matter what he’d told everyone. 

His belly gurgled. “Hah!” Dougie said, delighted. “Your tummy’s making noises.”

Somehow that made Johnny flushed harder. “It’s not my _tummy_ , dumbass. How old do you think I am, five?”

“You’re tall enough for a five-year-old,” Dougie said, but dutifully, like he really had more important things on his mind. He traced a circle around Johnny’s belly button. “Little tummy’s all big now. All full.”

On cue, Johnny’s stomach gurgled again. “Shut the fuck up,” Johnny said – to it or to Dougie, he couldn’t have said. Dougie ignored him and kept on making it’s-so-cute faces at Johnny’s belly and cooing. Fucking _cooing_.

“It’s working so hard,” he said, when Johnny’s stomach made another noise. “God, I wish the team could see you like this.”

“What?” Johnny yelped, as if his original idea hadn’t been exactly that – minus the shirtlessness, anyway.

“I wish we could just, like, walk you into the locker room like this, and everybody’d be like, what the fuck, Johnny? Why’s your stomach look like that? What did you do? What did you _eat_?”

“Fuck,” Johnny said, high and thin because he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Or we’d go to the beach. Everybody’d stare at you.”

“Maybe they… they’d think I always look like this,” Johnny offered. He framed his swollen stomach in his hands, flushing harder than he’d ever flushed in his life. Fuck. “Dougie, you gotta help me out here, dude. I can’t reach my dick.” That was a lie, he wasn’t _that_ big, but it’d be awkward and he’d have to move.

Dougie’s eyes got round. He cupped his free hand over Johnny’s crotch and sucked in a breath. “You got this far, just from talking?”

“You got the gift. Anyway, I kind of like it,” Johnny confessed. “How it feels. When I do this.”

“Shit,” Dougie said. He squeezed Johnny’s dick gently through his sweatpants. 

Johnny moaned. “Come on, dude. I can’t really move, here.”

“Because you’re so full,” Dougie said, matter-of-factly. “Too heavy?”

“No,” Johnny said. The word was hard. Dougie was working him now, right through the cotton. “Not heavy. Too.” Johnny gestured, futile. “Too stretched. Everything feels so… big.”

“Yeah.” The word was warm against Johnny’s stretched skin. Dougie tugged on Johnny’s sweatpants, and Johnny obligingly lifted his hips. The motion was harder than he expected, which made it all the more important that Dougie get his fucking hands on Johnny’s dick already. And then the pants were off, and Dougie curled his warm fingers around Johnny and gave an experimental stroke.

“Ohhhh, yeah,” Johnny said. He let his head fall back as Dougie began to work him. Johnny skimmed his fingertips over the taut surface of his belly, and back again, circles that barely grazed the skin.

Dougie’s stroke stuttered. Johnny looked down to find Dougie staring, mouth fallen open. “Come on,” Johnny said, grinning at that look on Dougie’s face. “Get me off already.”

“Fuck you,” Dougie said easily. Admiringly. 

“No way, man,” Johnny said. “Too full for that shit now.”

Dougie’s breath hitched, but his stroke stayed steady and smooth. And Johnny was close, really fucking close—

Dougie took his hand away. Johnny opened his eyes. “What?” he demanded.

“I had an idea.”

Johnny laughed a little, because he couldn’t imagine what that meant. “Okay?”

Dougie got to his feet and walked across the kitchen, and when he came back he had his grocery sack with the razors. Except instead of razors, he pulled out a package of Oreos.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Johnny said.

Dougie had a look on his face that Johnny had never seen before – impish. Hopeful. Like a ten year old who wanted Johnny to sign his stick, except Dougie was in his fucking twenties and what he wanted was for Johnny to put those cookies in his stomach. “You like Oreos, right?” Dougie said, like he hadn’t seen Johnny work through a column of them on the plane a month ago.

“I can’t eat all of them.”

Dougie shrugged, undaunted. “Just some of them.”

Johnny considered himself. He considered the state of his stomach – how full he was. How round he looked. Then he considered what it’d be like to be a little bit fuller, a little bit rounder, and he thrust his hand out. “Gimme.”

Dougie didn’t, not right away. First he went away again and came back with a knife, and he cut a slit longwise down the top of the package, so the chocolatey, cream-filled innards were revealed.

“I can’t believe you saved these until _after_ I drank all the milk,” Johnny said.

“Naw. I’m prepared.” Now Dougie set on the table the other thing he must have gotten when he got the knife: a brand new half-liter of milk. “You want a glass?”

“Sure,” Johnny said faintly, staring at the white cardboard carton. Dougie clattered around behind him, looking at cabinets, and finally he returned with a glass. He poured it full. He pushed milk and cookies both across the table to Johnny.

“You sneaky bastard,” Johnny said. “I thought you said I was going to explode.”

“But in case you didn’t…” Dougie shrugged, grin not quite hidden. 

Everybody in the room had badly underestimated Dougie Hamilton. 

Johnny shoved that aside and reached for a cookie. He dipped it in the milk just long enough to pick up moisture but not so long that he was in danger of losing it in the bottom of the glass, and then he shoved the whole cookie into his mouth.

He almost choked. He caught his breath and held it a moment, frozen, because oh, that could have been very bad. He rubbed his hand over his stomach – still in uneasy equilibrium, for now. Cautiously he brought the class to his mouth and wet his throat with it, around the mass of cookie, chewed very slowly, and finally swallowed a bit of a time.

“You gonna blow?” Dougie asked, looking the tiniest bit worried now.

“Nah,” Johnny said, aiming for certainty and falling a little short. He mustered a grin. “But you should probably, like, rub my belly, just to make sure.”

Dougie scrambled to comply. His hands on Johnny were warm, surer than last time. They swept over Johnny slowly, not too hard. Soothing. “Yeah,” Johnny breathed, caught up in the motion of Dougie’s hands but also so, so full. “Yeah, keep doing that.”

“You got it.”

Johnny dipped another cookie. Ate it slowly this time, one nibble after another. Washed it down with a careful swallow of milk. Knew, somehow, that sip was his absolute limit. “I’m done.”

“Yeah?” Dougie said. His hands paused.

Johnny squirmed a little further down in the dining chair and rested his hand carefully on the bump. “Yep.”

“You want me to—” Dougie dropped his hand lower on Johnny’s belly, towards his dick.

“Nah, man.” Johnny’s laugh was shallow. Cautious. “I don’t think I could handle that much excitement anymore.” 

Dougie resumed the belly rub and thought about that for a bit. “You want to take this to the couch? Just to, like, sit. So your butt doesn’t go numb.”

“Kinda already there,” Johnny admitted. “Yeah, okay. Give me a hand.”

Dougie held a hand out, gripped Johnny’s, and pulled Johnny slowly to his feet. Johnny shuffled into the living room with his hand cupped under his stomach, and Dougie supported Jonny’s elbow as Johnny lowered himself onto the couch. Ah, sweet cushioning. Johnny rested his head against the back of the couch. Dougie settled in next to him and put his hands back on Johnny’s belly, like he couldn’t get enough of him – which was fine, because there was plenty of Johnny to go around, today. 

“Good?” Dougie asked.

“Mm,” Johnny said. He closed his eyes, focused, until all he could feel was Dougie’s warm hands skimming over the surface of Johnny like they belonged there, like there wasn’t a single weird thing about it.

It was always the quiet ones, Johnny thought. Neat.

END


End file.
